Rebuilding
by Dee8
Summary: Service agents didn’t die making rookie mistakes in conveniece store robberies
1. Default Chapter

"I came to reclaim your West Point sweatshirt."  
Robert Donovan looked at his kid brother thoughtfully. Prior to starting his own security   
company, he was a Secret Service instructor for twenty years; he was perhaps the only   
person on the planet who didn't quite believe Simon was truly dead. His instincts,   
combined with some of Ron Buterfield's carefully evasive answers to Bobby's carefully   
phrased questions, told him Simon was going to resurface. He knew better than to breathe   
a word of his suspicions to anyone, lest he put Simon in true mortal danger. Secret   
Service agents didn't die making rookie mistakes in convenient store robberies, but they   
*did* die in undercover operations if their cover was blown.  
  
"I gave it to CJ."  
"You did?" Simon blinked as Bobby motioned him inside his office. The sweatshirt was   
a running joke between the brothers. Bobby's annoyance that his brother chose NOT to   
go to West Point on his army scholarship was amplified when Simon took Bobby's   
sweatshirt ("it attracts the girls, you know") and refused to give it back "till I'm good and   
dead." Over the years, they'd had many mock fights over it, but Simon always figured   
Bobby will reclaim the darn garment as soon as the chance presented itself. Now he was   
touched by his brother's gesture.  
  
Bobby sighed as he sank into his chair. "She was…distraught. We were cleaning out your   
apartment and the sweatshirt…she told me about the day at the shooting range and she   
put the sweatshirt on and couldn't stop crying. I couldn't…it was the closest she could   
come to getting a hug from you, you know?"  
Simon buried his head in his hands and moaned softly. Going undercover didn't scare   
him as much as the thought of the pain he was going to inflict on his loved ones. He knew   
Bobby would guess the truth. But their mother, CJ, Anthony, Bobby's kids and wife…He   
sighed and looked up, suddenly tired.   
"I didn't expect them to drag me undercover as soon as I was done with CJ's detail. I   
thought we'd have time." His face contorted in pain. "How is she? Have you kept in   
touch with her?"  
"Yeah. It helped both of us." At Simon's questioning look, Bobby explained, "I couldn't   
be completely sure you were really alive. Ron was a real…pro, like I taught him to be,   
the bastard."  
Simon laughed humorlessly, the sound ringing hollow in his ears. Bobby was Ron's CO   
in the Marines and his instructor when Buterfield joined the Secret Service. They were   
close friends, and Simon could only imagine what it did to Ron, being unable to free his   
friend from the purgatory Bobby was inhibiting these past four months.   
"CJ's in a lot of pain, but she's OK, somehow. She's remarkable. She carries on. The   
beginning was horrible. Just the fact that she let me see her so broken should tell you how   
bad it was at first. But right now, it's Anthony we both worry about."  
Simon listened as Bobby went on, filling him in. By the time his brother was done,   
Simon was drained. He knew he was crying, and once again felt a rush of gratitude at   
having a brother who would be there for you when you cried. Bobby may never let him   
live down dozens of gaffes Simon committed over the years, but he was always there   
when Simon needed him.  
  
They left the office together, and went to their parents' house. Simon's guilt intensified.   
That their mother had to grieve for him less than six months after their father died was   
unspeakably cruel, and it was something he tried to bring up with his supervisors before   
the beginning of his assignment. Not that it helped, he thought bitterly.   
Bobby went in first. Their mother, he told Simon, was still having a horrible time dealing   
with her losses.   
  
After two emotional days in Chicago, Simon left for DC. He asked Bobby if he thought   
there was a chance CJ would let him live when she saw him.  
"Let Ron prepare her. This way you may have a chance."  
"Guess I won't ask for your sweatshirt back, though." Simon tried to smile, and felt a   
huge knot tightening in his stomach. The very real possibility that this assignment would   
cost him his budding relationship with CJ was the most terrifying prospect he'd faced in a   
long time. His pain over Anthony's behavior was intense, but it paled in comparison to   
the pain he would feel if CJ would reject him now. Even when she was infuriating him as   
a protectee, he was still happier by her side than he'd been in ages. She simply filled his   
world and his senses more than anyone since…He sighed and hugged his family once   
more. It was time to face the music.  
  
Ron Butterfield hesitated before knocking on CJ's open office door. Secret Service   
agents didn't take unnecessary risks. The only reason he was doing what Simon asked   
him to do was the fact that the brat brought up Bobby as an emotional blackmail chip.   
Ron's eyes swept the office, mentally cataloging all the heavy objects and their location,   
estimating how fast he could duck if CJ reached for any of them. He took a deep breath   
as CJ's tired, hollow eyes looked at him in apprehension. She avoided him as much as   
possible since the night in New York, and he was glad for it. He couldn't take the   
heartbreaking pain he saw in her every time their paths crossed. His guilt nearly   
overwhelmed his professionalism on more than one occasion. It was precisely because   
she was always so strong and in control that seeing her vulnerable was devastating to   
those who knew her. In the past four months she'd gotten better at reclaiming her control,   
but the mask slipped every now and again, as it did now when he walked in and closed   
the door.;  
"CJ," he cleared his throat. "There's something you should know…about the night   
Simon…"  
She turned her head away and told him to leave. Whatever it was, she said, it couldn't   
possibly matter now, and she didn't want to hear it.  
"I think you have no choice, and it really does matter, right now," he said, standing   
armor-straight in front of her still-averted eyes.  
She toyed with a pen and refused to look at him. "What?" she spat, her voice as harsh as   
a slap across his face.  
"There was a domestic terrorist group we've been tracking for a while. We've intercepted   
some letters addressed to the President – some exceedingly disturbing letters. We had   
sources tell us they can carry out the threats that were in those letters – bioterror or 'dirty   
bombs…' But we couldn't get a handle on their location, or exactly what they had and   
how they got it…We needed someone on the inside…" he stopped as her face slowly   
lifted, the anger that began smoldering in her eyes was a hundred times worse than he'd   
anticipated. "CJ, he had no choice. He didn't even know we'd take him that night. We   
were extremely concerned, and Simon had…certain qualifications we desperately needed   
for this assignment." He sighed. "He said if I get out of this conversation alive he'd   
personally kill me. He may be right – there may have been a better way to get him where   
he needed to be. But we were running out of time and the President was a definite target,   
though not the only one." Ron stopped, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was   
rambling.   
"Where is he?"  
"Basement Office C."  
She swept past him without a word, slamming the office door behind her as she left. Ron   
looked around at the untouched heavy objects. He wondered if Simon would be so lucky.  
  
CJ stormed into the room and didn't slow down until she reached Simon, her eyes barely   
discerning him through the haze of fury in her mind. She slapped him hard with anger   
and desperation born out of four months of bitter, unremitting guilt and grief. Four   
months of pain watching a sweet young man fall apart and throw his life away because   
his beacon was gone. The rational part of her mind kept whispering Ron's words: "CJ, he   
had no choice." But what took over were a primal anger and a sense of betrayal so deep   
she couldn't even name it.  
Simon didn't move. He didn't even flinch when her hand struck him, or when he saw it   
coming. It was as if he welcomed the punishment, which in a way he did. At least it   
proved she still cared, and that, unlike Anthony, her core remained intact.  
  
CJ's hand dropped, and she sucked in her breath. Her mind clearing, she took him in –   
pale, tired, and filled with a deep hurt she instinctively knew only she could take away.   
Eyes flooding with tears, her arms came around his neck, wrapping tightly as she started   
to cry, pressing close to feel his body and his heartbeat, desperately needing to convince   
herself that this was reality.  
He groaned with pain and release as his arms pulled her tightly against him. His lips   
found her hair and he whispered her name over and over again between soft, tentative   
kisses. Neither of them knew how long they stood there, time seemingly at a stand-still,   
both crying, both murmuring broken half-sentences and fervent vows for the future.   
Eventually they sank to the floor, his arms cradling her gently, both of them spent.  
  
It was inevitable that someone would walk in. It was, after all, a regular day at the White   
House, for most people. The fact that it was Batman and Robin, in the middle of a heated   
argument over a paragraph in the President's upcoming speech, struck CJ as hilariously   
funny, for some reason.  
Toby and Sam stopped dead in their tracks and looked from Simon to CJ and back again,   
Toby's mouth doing the thing that only Toby's mouth could do when he was emotionally   
charged. Neither speech writer could come up with any words, and CJ, still very much on   
the verge of complete hysteria, started to giggle. Her eyes flew to Simon, who was   
somewhere between laughter and tears himself, Secret Service training thrown away for   
the moment. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head in desperation. He'd give   
a hell of a lot to be about a hundred miles away right now, with CJ in his arms in the   
privacy of…anywhere but here.  
  
When they finally got back to CJ's office she sank into the couch, her hand tightly   
gripping Simon's, pulling him down with her. She looked into his eyes and he saw   
apprehension written all over her face.  
"You need to go see Charlie Young," she said softly.  
Simon nodded, sighing. "Bobby filled me in a little. CJ, I'm humbled by you and Charlie.   
I don't even know how to begin to thank him," he shook his head. "I have a fair idea of   
everything I can do to thank *you* for taking care of Anthony…" he stopped as she   
shook her head.  
"He wouldn't let me take care of him, Simon. He hates me. And it took some pretty   
drastic behavior on Charlie's part to get Anthony to listen to *him*. I…I wanted to be   
there for him, but he held me responsible…" She stopped, too close to tears again. Simon   
held her close. He sat with her for a long moment before he straightened up and sighed   
again.   
"Unless you can get some time off today…" he didn't really think so, so close to the   
election, but he had to ask.   
She shook her head. "Where are you going to be?" She asked in a small voice.  
"Well, for starters, I'm going to talk to Mr. Young. Then I'll go back to my place and put   
it together again." He smiled a tight-lipped smile when he saw her stare at him.   
"The person who rented it works for us."  
"Oh." Of course, she thought. The Secret Service wouldn't leave him homeless when he   
got back from an undercover assignment. "Simon, how many people knew?"   
"Not many," he said softly. "Very, very few, CJ." He looked down for a moment.   
"Knowing would have put *you* at risk, not only me. I would trust you with this secret –   
I'd trust you with my life a hundred times over. But I didn't take all the abuse on your   
detail just to put you at risk when it was over." His gentle smile took the sting out of his   
words. "Can you at least take off earlier tonight?"  
"Count on it."  
He nodded, and pulled her up, his lips finding hers for a long, long moment.  
"I'll be around, ma'am," he whispered. He turned to leave.  
For some reason, she needed to know. "Simon?"  
He turned back.  
"Did the President know?"  
"No. No one outside the Secret Service knew. Even the FBI didn't know who we sent in.   
They just knew we had someone on the inside."  
She nodded.   
"Come back at six?"  
"I'll be back," he vowed softly. 


	2. Ch 2

Simon strode to Charlie's desk with a sense of purpose mingled with apprehension. He   
wasn't sure what the young man would tell him about Anthony, and part of him hoped   
Charlie hadn't yet bonded with the kid. It was a selfish wish – he enjoyed being   
Anthony's Big Brother; they had a very close relationship that filled a void in Simon's   
life – the place where a son would normally be if circumstances were different. Simon   
liked the Anthony he remembered, and the changes he brought about in him. He hoped he   
wasn't going to lose the boy.  
  
Charlie sat motionless, staring up at the tall man in front of him, wondering if the stress   
was finally getting to him. Afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, he wondered if he   
would be seeing his mother next, and should he actually ask for an ambulance right now.  
"Guess I should have asked CJ to prepare you the way Ron prepared her."  
"Agent Donovan?" It was a squeak, not even a whisper.  
"Simon, actually." He smiled at the young man. "I really am alive, you know. You   
haven't snapped."  
Charlie wondered how he would know the difference. Debbie Fiderer walked back to her   
desk from the Oval Office. She saw Simon and smiled. "Can I help you?"  
Simon shook his head. "Thank you ma'am, I'm here for Charlie."  
Well, thought Charlie, at least I know that if I'm hallucinating, I'm not doing it alone. He   
stood up. "Debbie, I need to take a short break. Page me if you need anything."  
  
He motioned for Simon to follow, and as they walked away he explained awkwardly,   
"She's new. Just started."  
"CJ thought the President would never replace Mrs. Landigham."  
"We all thought that." Charlie led Simon into an empty room, closed the door and looked   
at him carefully. "Did you see CJ?"  
Simon nodded. He was still spent from the intensity of the past few hours. And he was   
afraid of the coming conversation. He cleared his throat nervously.  
"I uh…guess I should start by telling you that my 'death,' as it were, was staged in order   
to send me on an undercover assignment. The circumstances were beyond my control,   
and anyone who knew the truth was at risk. That's why only a few top level Secret   
Service agents knew the truth."  
Charlie took a deep breath. That explained a lot, but it may not be enough to smooth   
things over with Anthony, and witnessing CJ's pain these past four months would   
probably hurt him for some time yet.   
"Your job sucks," he blurted without thinking, astonished to find himself repeating   
Anthony's assessment of Simon's job.  
"It has its moments, yes." Simon smiled weakly. "Is that you speaking, or is it my Little   
Brother?"  
Charlie was impressed. From the very little Anthony said in the short time they've spent   
together, he knew the kid and Simon were close. But he never realized how close.  
"Both of us, I guess," he admitted, than shook his head. "I don't mean…I appreciate   
everything the Secret Service does…"   
Simon held up his hand. "I understand more than you think," he said softly, thinking of   
his mother's tears and CJ's hand across his cheek, the same hand that later held on for   
dear life as they walked back to her office. His stomach tightened again. "Give me the   
gory details about Anthony," he said softly.  
"How much do you know?" asked Charlie.  
"I know about the car, I know CJ got you to take over my role in exchange for his not   
doing time. She said it took "a drastic action' on your part to get him to agree to this, but   
she didn't elaborate."  
"He called her a bitch. I slammed him against the wall."  
Simon blinked. "He did what?"  
"Called her a bitch."  
  
Simon stared at Charlie in stunned disbelief for a long moment. The younger man   
returned the gaze, and then averted his eyes. He thought he wanted to shake the agent, but   
the pain in Simon's eyes made him feel as if he'd just kicked a wounded dog. Like CJ's   
anger, his own quickly dissolved in the face of the realization that Simon's loses, though   
more voluntary than CJ's or Anthony's, were quite real and painful.  
"He was upset," Charlie said uncomfortably. "He was tired. I think, maybe, more than me   
slamming him against the wall and lecturing him, it was the fact that he talked to her that   
way that shook him enough to start meeting with me." Charlie had no idea were his   
words came from, but he hoped Simon would buy them. It may even be the truth, he   
reflected.  
Simon looked around the room for a long moment. He felt as if he were sleep-walking.   
He returned his gaze to the young man in front of him.  
"There is no way I can even begin to thank you," He said quietly. "And I'm actually   
about to ask you for one more favor, namely to let him know that I'm alive and back. I   
just want you to know…your mother would be very proud of you. You've shown a   
generosity that's pretty humbling." He took a deep breath. "Would you like to continue   
seeing him, when your schedule permits? It's not like I can give or deny permission," he   
added quickly. "That's up to Anthony. I'm just thinking he could really use a role model   
like you."  
"He's got a great role model already," smiled Charlie. "And he'll probably be boring   
when he's content, now that you're back." His face grew serious. "I don't know how he'd   
react to your return, actually. But yeah, I like shooting hoops with him, and he might   
even be fun when he lets go of the attitude. If he wants to tag along on Saturdays, I'm   
game."  
Simon smiled slightly. "You'll talk to him?"  
"As soon as I can. I have a full day today. But I'll see if I can get him to drop by after   
school."  
"I understand." Simon gave him his business card. "Call my cell when he knows, OK?"  
Charlie nodded. He looked back at the older man and needed to do something to take the   
pain away. "He loves you. He'll come around. He's just – hurting badly right now, and   
no one ever told him how to handle this kind of pain the right way." He sighed, "I'm glad   
you're back. We need a happy ending here every once in a while." 


	3. Ch 3

"Way to honor my memory, kid."  
Anthony thought he could counter anything Simon might have to say to him when they   
met again, but Simon's words felt like a blow that knocked the wind out of him. The   
impact was made worst by the fact that for the past four months, he knew he was   
betraying Simon's memory, but felt powerless to stop the downward spiral he was on.   
Only anger and defiance obliterated the pain and shame he felt these past months. It was   
the classic vicious circle.  
  
He searched for the anger and even hate that brought him to mouth off to CJ Cregg that   
night at the White House. All he could find was the desperate need of a child to bury his   
head in Simon's chest and cry out his pain and loss. He was damned if he was going to do   
*that*.  
"You wouldn't have known. You were dead," he spat.  
Simon nodded, staring steadily into the boy's eyes. "*You* knew. Which one of us is not   
very bright?"  
"Fuck you, Simon!"  
"Feel better getting that off your chest?"  
"Sure do."  
"OK. Come here."  
"Go to hell."  
"Been there these past four months. Didn't like it one bit. Come here."  
"Make me."  
  
Wrong thing to say to Secret Service agent, reflected Anthony as Simon's lightning quick   
move brought the boy into a tight embrace that didn't let go. Anthony fought against   
iron-strong muscles that were trained in holding down people far more desperate and   
dangerous than a lost child. The steady hold spoke of the security he's missed so much,   
the place he used to turn to when there was nowhere else to run. Fear, anger, and shame,   
along with the heartbreaking longing for the safety of Simon's company overwhelmed   
him. Simon's grip was no longer a restraint but rather a guardrail on a dark mountain   
road, one that prevented the young man from plunging headfirst off the cliff and into the   
darkness below.  
  
Simon took a deep breath and waited for the storm to subside. Coming back from the   
dead took some adjustments for everyone involved, he thought wryly. He sure as hell   
hoped there would be no more undercover assignments for a while; at least not those that   
happened without warning and left his loved ones reeling. When he felt Anthony's   
struggle beginning to weaken, he relaxed his arms.  
  
"Well?"  
Anthony refused to look into Simon's eyes. He stepped back, looking away, fists   
clenched.  
"Why are you here now?" he heard himself ask.   
"I missed you. I was hoping you'd be…uh…relieved I wasn't dead?"  
"You told me once, when we first started…you said you didn't waste your time on   
losers."  
"I still don't."  
"So why are you here now?"  
"You think you're a loser?"  
"I sure as hell acted like one since you…left."  
"Yeah, I'm not real happy about the language you used in the White House, you know.   
To say nothing of your target…Or your attitude in general towards people who genuinely   
cared and wanted to help."  
"So why are you here now? And what about the car?"  
"Tell me about the car," Simon said softly. He knew the boy well enough. "You were,   
what, trying to run away?"  
"I guess…I don't know. It was the same type of old Chevy we worked on last summer   
and I thought…I don't know what I thought." A part of him, a completely irrational part   
of him, felt if he could drive the car far enough, he could reach Simon. But he wasn't   
about to share that thought with his Big Brother.  
  
Simon was quiet for a while. The previous summer, a friend had asked him to help   
restore an old Chevy. Since it was summer, and Anthony was restless, he got the boy to   
help them. They'd spent a memorable summer working on the car, with Anthony putting   
in time even when Simon was away or working late. Simon's friend, Jonathan, let   
Anthony take the first spin in the car when the work was done. The memory brought a   
smile to Simon's lips.  
  
He shook his head and opted for diversion. "So how do you like Charlie Young?" He   
asked casually.  
"He's not you," said the boy resentfully.  
Simon grinned. "Yeah, he plays basketball instead of baseball. Waste of athletic ability, if   
you ask me."  
"I didn't ask you."  
"Still with the attitude, are you?"  
Anthony started to answer, and then dropped his gaze. Quietly, he asked, "What's going   
to happen now?"  
Simon sat down on the park bench near them. He motioned the boy to sit near him, and   
held his breath while Anthony stood undecidedly for several seconds, before moving to   
join him on the bench. It may have been a small victory, but it was a start on the road   
back to normalcy. He wrapped his arm around his Little Brother.  
"Well, for starters, you're going to apologize to Ms. Cregg. And you're going to mean   
it."  
Anthony nodded mutely. In his mind he had apologized to her hundreds of times already.   
"Are you going to be there…when I do?"  
Simon chuckled humorlessly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. You're lucky she talked   
me out of breaking your neck."  
"Right…"  
"You'll do the same with your homeroom teacher."  
"OK."  
"After that, you have a choice. You know I'd like to stick with you. You're a good kid,   
even when you try hard not to be. Charlie likes you too, and I think he's just as good of   
an influence on you. In an ideal world, I would like us to continue the way we were, but   
I'd also like you to meet with him on Saturdays, if he's got the time and inclination. He   
told me he would like that. You can also ditch me," he tried to sound casual, but didn't   
quite make it, "and stick only with Charlie. Your choice."  
  
Anthony studied an ant on the ground for a long time. Finally, he looked up at Simon.  
"Are you going to have to do that again? Go undercover and make it look like you're   
dead?"  
"I don't know, Anthony." Simon studied the sky for a while. "I may actually die on the   
job for real, too. You knew that three years ago, it hasn't changed since then."  
"Your job sucks," there was bitterness in Anthony's voice.  
"No, it really doesn't. It just has its moments."  
"Why are you so willing to take a bullet for somebody else?"  
"Because it gives you the freedom to go to school and restore old Chevys."  
They sat in silence for a moment.  
"I don't want to be a loser, Si."  
"You're not, Anthony. Really, you're not. I wouldn't be here if I thought you were. But   
we have more work to do with your anger and attitude, you know. If you still want me   
around, that is."  
"I do."  
"And…?"  
"And I like your ideal world…you know, where I get to spend time with Charlie, too?"  
"I'm glad." Simon smiled. "Just remember…."  
"Yeah, the White Sox rule," Anthony grinned.  
"That's my boy!" 


End file.
